


Truthfully

by ophanem



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Hospitalization, NO JUDAI AND OSAMU ARE NOT A THING, THEYRE A FAMBLY, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000, is there like no tag for the found family trope tsk mmmmmm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-13 19:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14119287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ophanem/pseuds/ophanem
Summary: Hopefully not. Hopefully, Juudai would find him alive, ideally, and if not, maybe the next graveyard Juudai passes will house his name.





	Truthfully

**Author's Note:**

> "Well, alright, then. Please give me your name and who you're here to visit."
> 
> "Yuuki Juudai. I'm Yuuki Juudai... I'm here to visit Ishi- Ishikawa Osamu?"

Long-term care facilities, nursing homes, are nice. They have a garden outside, the campus is huge, and there are many college students who visit the patients, for community service or otherwise. Juudai thinks, when he becomes old and weak of heart, he would like to live in a long-term care facility if he could save up that much retirement money for the remaining years of his life.

Alas, though, he is not here for the old or the wasted away. Yubel gently pats his back and Winged Kuriboh presses up against his cheek before disappearing per Juudai's request, the two likely off to the snowed-in garden to play or whatever Duel Spirits like to do. Here, Juudai doesn't want them to interfere-not that he hates them, but them being with him on this, especially Yubel... he wants to be alone now.

Someone Juudai wants to see is here. Someone from long ago, from when he was very young and naive and dumb and helpless and _alone_. Someone he hurt every time they met ways. Not that he meant to, of course, and not that Yubel meant to hurt him or Juudai, but it is in the painful past Juudai wishes he could have changed. He has a feeling that if Yubel was following him still to see his old friend...

HIs friend  _was_ comatose, after all. Or maybe not. Maybe his insurance or his family gave up on him. Maybe he was laid in a grave six feet deep. Maybe Juudai was too late to express his condolence.

Hopefully not. Hopefully, Juudai would find him alive, ideally, and if not, maybe the next graveyard Juudai passes will house his name.

 

Entering the building, the first thing Juudai notices is the difference in temperature from the outside's mid-winter cold to the interior's lovely warmth. He takes off his thick scarf and large coat-Yubel insisted he wears this in the midst of paltry, squishy snowing-approaching the front desk with identification in hand.

"Hello," Juudai greets, uncharacteristically soft-spoken. "I'd like to visit someone who was sent here about seven or eight years ago."

"Hello," the receptionist replies before raising her hand to stop Juudai. A phone is wedged between her ear and her shoulder. Juudai waits anxiously as she speaks loudly into the reception phone, asking about a social security number and identification and _what is the name of the patient being admitted_ and _what is the phone number of the patient's caretaker_. Finally, she ends the call with a thank-you, and she turns to Juudai. "From seven or eight years ago?"

"Uh... he's probably still here since he was. In a coma, the last time I saw him."

The receptionist takes a second to pull up a database of some kind on the computer.

"Well, alright, then. Please give me your name and who you're here to visit."

"Yuuki Juudai. I'm Yuuki Juudai... I'm here to visit Ishi- Ishikawa Osamu?" Juudai replies hesitantly, drying his sweaty hands on his coat.

A long pause passes as Juudai waits for the receptionist to find said patient: Ishikawa Osamu, 20-something years old, born on date/month/year Juudai can't remember for the life of him. Comatose, cause of which is unknown. Organ donor. She asks for identification and Juudai doesn't respond for a moment. She asks again, louder, and Juudai fumbles for his driver's license, obtained maybe a week ago, and his social security card. His last name was difficult to be remembered. Juudai had to call his parents to find out.

He clenches his jaw at the thought of having called his parents. Their conversation was clunky, humid, thick like sludge and painful to talk through, and his dad's hoarse words snapping at him to return to education stuck to him like sticky rice, and he hung up after that. It doesn't matter that they haven't spoken in years. His parents telling him Osamu's name is the last time Osamu would be on their tongue, and he is glad for that.

"Here," the receptionist prompts, and she hands him a little strip of identification paper. Juudai takes it. "Wrap it around your wrist and connect it. Room 23A on the second floor. Follow the blue arrows--" She points to an elongated, painted arrow on the ground leading down the hall and away. "--to the specific wing. If you need directions, you can just ask a nurse."

Juudai thanks her once or twice before hurrying down the corridor, warned by a passing nurse to slow to a walk, and he obliges, but just barely. Distracted by anxiety, he misses the flapping of gentle wings by his back, opting to speedwalk to find Osamu's room as soon as he can, to spend the better of the few remaining visiting hours with his friend.

 

Finally, after a few minutes of rushing himself, Juudai enters the wing for comatose/vegetative patients. He approaches the front desk, brandishing the ID on his wrist, and asks for the room of Ishikawa Osamu. The available nurses point to a room near the end of the ward.

It is visibly dark in the room, quiet with a gentle light. He finds comfort in the soft light at the entrance, and before he enters, Juudai cools his senses and shakes out the static in his nerves before going forth.

Even though he could hear it from the door, the beep of the heart monitor reverberates louder in his head. To Juudai’s surprise, there is no gentle hiss of a medical ventilator, even though he vaguely remembers Osamu being hooked up to many machines and monitors — though, now in hindsight, they were probably hooked to keep him stable or maybe as a just-in-case. A curtain is drawn around a specially engineered cot made to accommodate comatose patients, of course. Gently, he pulls the curtain back to see his friend.

Pale. Pale, his friend is, and Juudai isn’t surprised at the fact that it is hard to recognize Osamu. His hair got longer, slightly. It reaches down past his ears now, but it has definitely been trimmed. His face is somewhat sunken in, skinnier, sickly. Juudai expected this — it has been about eight years after all — he expected this change in Osamu. Nevertheless, his stomach flips as he pulls a chair up beside Osamu’s bed and sits.

He has no idea where to start. What to say. Where to begin. There’s a flap in his ears that cancels out the beeping of the heart monitor and replaces it with the beating of his own heart. Osamu won’t hear him; this won’t free Osamu. But he’s always heard stories. Stories of coma patients waking up and reporting having heard conversations of those around them. Stories of awareness while unconscious. Stories that give him enough hope to bring him here.

His fingers feel light as feathers, an airy and empty feeling to them, and he reaches for Osamu’s hand and gently slides his own hand under Osamu’s. He sandwiches it between both his hands before taking a break and settling his chest.

”Hey, Osamu,” Juudai greets quietly, overpowered by the imminent resound of the heart monitor. “It’s been a long time.”

He can’t expect a reply from Osamu, but he pays attention to the rise and fall of Osamu’s chest. He briefly remembers a conversation between Osamu’s doctor and a nurse.

 _It’s very strange_ , the doctor reports. _He is a special case. He fulfills two out of three requirements for being brain-dead, but it doesn’t appear to be that way._ Something about brain activity still being detected, or whatever. It doesn’t matter now, though, because even if it did, Osamu is still... like this.

”I...” Juudai starts again, a lump in his throat. He struggles to speak. He fears no reply, but he knows he won't get a reply — at least, not yet. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I messed up, and it's my fault you're here. You don't..." He inhales. "You don't deserve to be here. Because of me.

"You didn't have to be my babysitter or my best friend, you know. And, uh... I'm sorry, I wish you never were. it would've been better that way if you didn't know me. It would've been better if you didn't know me or if Satou didn't know me or if... if... you would still be okay if it wasn't for me."

Juudai's voice is trembling now as eight years of repression and forgotten memories rush back to him all at once. His face is too numb to feel the tears drip down his cheeks because it's cold again, and he feels the chill of the wind and the sting of the tears on his six-year-old self's cheeks. He remembers the rough-skinned arms of a demon around his shoulders, and it chokes him, this memory chokes him. This is the only way to free him.

"You could've chosen someone else to babysit," Juudai murmurs softly. "You could've been okay if I had just... if I knew..."

A hand lays itself upon his shoulder, and he wipes his face before leaning his head into it. The claws curl around his face and cradle his cheek from behind, and spiked wings gently wrap over his free shoulder.

"Don't blame yourself for what I did," an ethereal voice speaks softly, quiet in order to let silence settle on Juudai's chest. "You were young. You didn't understand."

Juudai doesn't pay much attention. Yubel is worth a lot to him, no question, but he can't afford to pay attention to them when the work of their sin is before him. He plays with Osamu's hand; pressing his thumb into his palm; counting each of the joints; pinching the fleshy part in between each finger. He palms for Osamu's wrist, pressing gently to feel the bump-bump-bump of his heartbeat. It's comforting, yet terrifying, to know that Osamu is still on here, on the earth with him yet still unattainable.

Yubel knows what they did. They wrap their arms around Juudai's shoulders, tenderly, keeping their arms loose and free for Juudai to slip out. He doesn't. In fact, he leans his head against their shoulder, seeks their comfort and their warmth. Yubel knows what they did, and Yubel rests their head on top of Juudai's, closing their eyes for a moment and hoping for Juudai's soon-to-be happiness before stepping back and releasing Juudai from their tentative hug.

"Yubel...?" Juudai asks quietly as Yubel steps beside him, facing Osamu. His breath hitches when they outstretched their hand towards Osamu, and he swipes a hand at Yubel's. He panics. "No! No, don't!"

Yubel quickly draws her hand back, placing her other clawed hand on Juudai's shoulder. He expects toughness, scales, and spikes, but thankfully, there is instead softness, soothing, and sorrow, and "I'm sorry" and "I want to fix what I've done."

He doesn't expect that last part. It's the last thing he thought would be said, and he doesn't snap out when Yubel again, tentatively, slides their hand over Osamu's forehead. They don't start what they want to begin; they look to Juudai as if asking for his permission.

"Please, just... don't hurt him anymore," Juudai relents, reaching for Yubel's other hand and squeezing it gently. "Don't let him get hurt anymore."

Yubel nods as they inhale and press their palm against Osamu's forehead.

 

 

"Hey, hey! Last I saw you, you were, what, eight?"

"Six, Osamu," Juudai corrects as he raises the spoon to Osamu's mouth. "I was six."

"Why are you feeding me?" Osamu asks as Juudai shoves the food into his mouth. He sticks his bottom lip out in pseudo-grumpiness, tossing a disgruntled look in Juudai's direction.

"It's only a return favor for you force-feeding me cauliflower when I was younger," Juudai replies, and the two snort at the memory of little Juudai tossing his mashed bland broccoli off his food tray.

Their short chatter dies down after that as Juudai feeds Osamu his soup. Osamu is quiet, leaning against his upright-positioned cot, and patiently allows himself time to get used to the taste of food in his mouth after literal years. Juudai raises another spoon to Osamu's lips when Osamu pipes up again.

"You're different," Osamu states blankly. Juudai blinks in confusion. "I mean, obviously, since it  _has_ been nearly a decade, but, I mean..."

Osamu chews the inside of his cheek to find the right word. Juudai answers for him.

"I'm more serious, right?"

"Yeah," Osamu confirms, slurping the soup from the spoon offered to him. He swallows and pauses before speaking again. "I figured you would be... upbeat, even after a few years or so."

Juudai smiles faintly.

"It's a long story," he replies vaguely, and the two of them fall silent again in lieu of dropping the topic. A long cycle of Juudai spooning up soup and feeding it to Osamu goes on before Juudai speaks.

"I'm glad you're okay now," he says softly, bowing his head and staring at Osamu's cot. "I missed you a lot."

Osamu closes his eyes and leans back against the bed, ruminating over the last eight years that felt like eight seconds. He opens his eyes again and slides his hand over Juudai's.

"Look, Juudai," Osamu starts. "I dunno what happened to me. I know that it's a miracle I'm awake and alive right now. And I just want to settle for the fact that I can talk to you again, even if I missed out on seven years of fun."

"Eight."

"Spare me, I'm being deep."

The two share another laugh, gentle, lighthearted. The two of them light up the room together, even though the window curtains are drawn and the ceiling lights are dimmed. Outside, Yubel and Winged Kuriboh watch a pink-streaked sunset.

Visiting hours would be over soon, Juudai knows.

 _That's fine_.

Juudai lets himself feel flowers again, second by second.

 

**Author's Note:**

> im not even at this part in the anime, but my sister told me about osamu and i read his wiki page and im ANGRY, DAMMIT. BRING HIM BACK.
> 
> this took a lil to finish, thanks
> 
> this is my longest fic ever please validate me


End file.
